I am sure going to miss having legs.

Discovered yet another bit of fuckery today. There is now an area on the left side of my left foreleg which is all messed up.

It’s discolored – a nice scalded pink with undertones of boiled lobster. It’s also smooth because for some reason it’s hairless. The muscle and flesh underneath is weirdly hard and tender to the touch. Burns.

No idea how long it’s been like that. It feels recent. Doesn’t make much of a difference,

And I know I should be upset about it and I should be making an appointment with my family doctor, Doctor Chao, so he can take a look at it. It seems pretty nasty, when I try to look at it objectively, and I should be taking it more seriously.

But I can’t. I am too tired, too stressed, too overwhelmed. All I can do is register it with a kin of dull apathy and ad it to the list of stuff I will deal with eventually. Probably. Maybe.

Clearly my legs aren’t going to be around much longer. There’s the lesions all over the left that have been there forever. A few on the right, too, I get all kind of random pains in them ever day. Burning. Electric zaps. Sudden cramps. Stabbing pains. And so on.

My feet too.

Guess this is what comes of rampant out of control diabetes combined with sitting on my ass all day. The circulation in my legs and feet must be all kind of fucked up and that is in turn causing neurological issues and well, here we are.

No idea what the deal with this new raw red patch is. But I have had some incidents of a burning sensation like I have been scalded yet there’s no sign on the skin lately.

So my best guess is that it’s lactic acid buildup. Again. They say it happens when you are repeatedly deprived of oxygen, and that’s my local definition of “sleep”.

I am sure there are treatments for that kind of thing. If I got an appointment with Doctor Chao, he could totally hook me up with that shit.

Maybe tomorrow. After my appointment with Doctor Caswell.

Speaking of whom, I have not heard anything about my new glucometer yet. The one the government will actually pay for.

And apparently I am seeing Doctor Caswell tomorrow morning, and not on the 29th like I thought. Makes me wonder if it’s worth the effort when I have so little to report.

I suppose I can cadge another sensor off of her. One that hopefully will not crap out after three days like the last one.

You’d think for $100 a pop retail, the goddamned things would at least be reliable.

Then again, why? They have us diabetics at their lack of mercy. We need glucometers in order to live.

So why not juice us for as much as possible like any smart gang of extortionists?

In summation, everything is fucked. Every part of my body is crashing and burning on some level and I don’t know if I will live to see another Christmas.

But enough about me. How are you doing?

---

Is darkness real?

Well, okay, I might make it to Christmas.

But Easter? Fuggedaboudid.

As you can no doubt tell, I have been really depressed lately. I really feel like the walls are closing in on me and soon this rickety little shack on the midnight tundra that is my only shelter will fall on me and doom me forever.

There is so much wrong with me. Fresh horrors emerge regularly. This scalded area on the inside of my left foreleg is proof of that.

My body is busily dreaming up new ways to destroy itself.

And I just can’t handle it. It’s all too much. I feel completely overwhelmed. I couldn’t handle real life back when I was fairly healthy.

I sure as fuck can’t handle it now that my life is on fire in ten different places all at once.

But what can I do? There’s nobody else to handle things for me. If I can’t handle it, nobody can, and I wish I was mentally and physically the sort of person whom that would galvanize into action but I am not.

Instead, it makes me want to lay down, give up, and die.

Die rather than take charge of your own life??

More like die rather than do the impossible.

Let me put it like this : gun to your head, could you fly? You have all the incentive in the world, so…. just flap your arms and fly.

It’s not that fucking simple, is it?

But of course, seeing as I am a licensed and registered^[1] crazy person, I have no idea how much of my feeling of doom is realistic. From a detached point of view, it might seem mostly probable that my mental illness is making things seem much worse than they are and I will still be here years from now.

And I can’t deny the influence of that part of me that wants to die. I had a particularly bad moment earlier today. One moment I was contently soaking up sun and fresh air by sticking my head out my bathroom mirror a bit, the next I was looking down at the ground and wondering if I could fit through the window and how much it would hurt when I hit the ground and whether the fall would kill me, ^[2]

This is bad. That is beyond suicidal ideation and into suicidal thoughts. The difference, f course, is plans.

Ideation is just a moment of feeling like you could imagine jumping out that window. It passes without fuss because it’s just a passing thought.

But suicidal thoughts involve a strong urge to actually do the thing. A longing, a craving, a soul crying out for oblivion.

And a mind that starts figuring out the logistics.

This scares me. And I don’t know what to do about it. As far as I know, I don’t have the option of just going into an asylum because I am feeling death-y.

They make you do something much crazier before they let you in. Which tends to mean a crime or a suicide attempt.

I don’t wanna do either of those.

So I have emailed my therapist. Doctor Costin. I pasted my description of the incident into the email. Hopefully he will know what to do.

The fool has given me 24 hour access to him.

May God have mercy on his soul. 😛

I will talk to you nice people again tomorrow.